The life & times of the eternally evolving, erratic, eccentric expatriate (who loves the color violet)

Tag Archives: antidepressants

I was seriously debating entitling this particular entry something like, “I am officially the worst teacher ever,” or “Depression is horrible and so am I,” but I have had time to sleep on it (I’ve been sleeping a LOT), and gave it the current, kinder, and gentler title instead.

In recent news, despite my newly prescribed meds in addition to my other ones, my anxiety attacks have gotten worse, not better, while my depression has spiraled out of freakin’ control, to the point that I had to take a psychiatric leave of absence from my school for the remaining weeks of the school year.

Let me back up a bit. For the past several weeks (though maybe I’m off, because the concept of time is often elusive when you’re unwell), I have been crying uncontrollably at very inopportune times (as in, in front of my coworkers, my principal, and on more than one occasion, my students). Nothing seems to give me the slightest shred of pleasure. I can’t even say that I hope for happiness. Happiness would be an unimaginable luxury at this point. I just don’t want to be in this perpetual, unsustainable state of pain anymore.

Yesterday afternoon, I was starting to feel, well, not alright, but something closer to neutral. Until I got a pop-up on my cell phone from my school email inbox (I need to deactivate that, STAT). It was a heartbreaking email (which is far too personal for me to post) from one of my students, a 12 year old girl, who wrote to me that she and some of my other students cried when they found out that I was unwell and not going back to school. She went on to plead that, for her recent birthday, all she wants is me to come back as her ELL teacher (insert a billion broken heart icons here) 🙁

I couldn’t bear to continue reading, so there are some parts that I couldn’t even get to, but the message is still there, waiting for me to finish it. It is more than worthy of a meaningful and truthful response (to the extent that a child can understand), but right now, I just don’t know how I can and what I can possibly write back to explain what I have been experiencing. I feel like a horrible person, teacher, role model, everything. To say that I am furious with myself is an understatement, but I know in my heart that I had no choice. If I had continued to go the way that I was going, the outcome could have been a hundred times worse.

My first dosage of meds of the day (not including my regular vitamins and B-stress complex supplements).

Every time I have to take my various meds, all for a different purpose, some which counteract the effects of others in some way, it is a reminder that I am “sick,” that I am “ not normal.” It sucks. I wish I could just flush them all down the toilet and be done with them forever, but unfortunately, I have tried similar actions before, a number of times in fact, and it never leads to anything good for me… or anyone else, for that matter.

I know it sounds worse than blasphemous to say, but I wish I had a physical illness or condition that could somehow “better justify” my need to take this leave. But at least with a physical ailment, there is sometimes a specific time frame of recovery, and you know that it is a question of when (not if) you will recuperate. And that, in all likelihood, you won’t relapse. This is lamentably not the case with a mental illness.

For a very long time,

Me when I have been teaching ):(

I felt compelled to follow the mantra, “The show must go on,”in terms of not only teaching my classes, but also keeping up a pretense, no matter how feeble, that I had it together and that I was fine.

Fine. I’m fine (*Snort*). Everyone knows by now that “I’m fine” really means, “I’m Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional” (or some such variation with the same general idea).

No. I was not fine. I am stilll not fine. I need help.

I have deactivated my Facebook account. Nor am I using Instagram any longer, and I am avoiding Twitter (not that I ever used it practically at all, but you get the point). I need to clear my head and my heart. I need a break from social media. I need a break from it all. If I honestly believed that checking into a “mental health clinic” would be of any good , I would have already done so, but I’m just going to use the old cliche, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice [or three times, in my case], shame on me.” To me, the experience and thought of going back to a psych ward is remnant of that poignant Amy Winehouse song, “Rehab.”

#Truth

But although the paperwork is signed and handed in for my medical leave of absence, and the process of my recover is in motion, the thought of taking a break from absolutely everything (my teaching job included) quite frankly scares the hell out of me. Not just because change is scary, but because taking such drastic measures can go either way. But I desperately need a change. Although I am an employee in Argentina, I am still terrified of the idea of losing my teaching job for good. Yes, the law says my position and I am protected for up to 52 weeks, but society and personal past experience says otherwise.

In the meantime, I am trying to seek some sort of meaning from this entire thing. I am desperately trying to get better as much as I can and as soon as I can. I wish I could just hastily call off this whole psychiatric leave situation, but I know that it would spell disaster for me in every sense. So I am prepared to pull out all stops. I don’t care what I have to do, I must and will do anything to get better as soon as I can. I need to. For my family and for my students, and for myself, too.“Do not judge me by my successes. Judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again.” – Nelson Mandela

To say that I haven’t been myself recently is an understatement. The Depression Demon (or the Black Dog, the Bell Jar, or however I’m going to personify it this time) has been a cruel, uninvited presence in my life for the past few weeks. It’s hard to say exactly why this is. I try to be logical with myself and talk myself out of my stupor, but depression is not a logical thing. I can practically feel the sensation of a giant weight pulling me down, head first, to the point that even mundane, everyday tasks seem like running a marathon with a broken ankle. The fact is, when it hits, depression is debilitating in every sense.

One of the hardest aspects of this entire ordeal is that depression it’s hard for me to just talk about it, it is something that is grossly and sometimes dangerously misunderstood. Many people don’t believe in it, in the same way that they don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy (well… bad example, but you get the point). To them, it’s simply not real, it doesn’t exist, it’s all in the mind, a figment of the imagination.

If they only knew.

In response, I have created my own list regarding what I consider to be some of the most common and gravest misconceptions about depression….

1. Being depressed is a choice

I sincerely cannot imagine someone ever choosing, consciously or otherwise, to live with depression. If it were really a matter of choosing, if it were really a matter of resolution, who on Earth would wake up one morning and decide that they’d prefer to spend their days existing in unfathomable pain? Pain is indeed a part of life, but a perpetual state of severe pain is unnatural and unsustainable. Speaking for myself, when I was at my worst, all I wanted to do was to be able to switch off a part of my brain that would permit me at least a moment of relief, to the point that I was researching in earnest the pros and cons of electroconvulsion therapy. I know in my heart and in my mind I was doing everything in my power to not be depressed, it was not a choice. Being told over and over that it was only made it that much worse.

2. All psychiatrists have a sweet, sweet deal with pharmaceutical companies that give them a cut of the profits if they prescribe their patients lots of expensive drugs

Look, I’m not a doctor or medically qualified in any way, but I find it hard to believe that there’s some kind of arrangement going on behind patients’ backs that are making all psychiatrists fabulously wealthy based on the quantity of prescriptions they write. Especially in Argentina, where meds are much more affordable than back home in the United States (even without private insurance) and where there exists such as a thing as free mental health care. I’ve seen more than my share of psychiatrists, and thankfully, the majority of the ones who I have worked with were compassionate professionals who were actually hesitant to prescribe me excessive medication that they deemed unnecessary.

3. Being depressed means that you are weak…

… Or that if the sufferer were stronger, better, more resilient, more resourceful, or simply more positive, they would not be in their predicament. Untrue. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been metaphorically beaten over the head with a baseball bat with “Depression = Weakness” engraved on it. Way to kick a person in the teeth when s/he’s down. If anything, going on with your day or your job when you have depression signifies that you are tough-as-nails strong, stronger than you realize. When all you want to do is break down and collapse and cry, doing what needs to be done is no easy feat. Kudos to those who still somehow manage to do so, even if they aren’t able to do it all the time.

4. Antidepressants and mood stabilizers are merely expensive placebos that have no real psychiatric benefit (either that, or they turn you into a zombie/monster)

False. I am fortunate enough to have found a combination of medication (Prozac and Abilify) that has stabilized my severe depression to a more manageable level. Getting to this point was a challenging process for both me and my psychiatrist… especially when I decided to try to see what would happen if I went off my meds. Big mistake. To say that I emotionally deteriorated would be an understatement. When asked by my doctor and the people closest to me why the hell I had stopped taking my medication, my only real reason was because so many people had been so insistent that I didn’t *really* need to be taking these grossly overpriced sugar pills. Big mistake. But just to make absolutely sure, I later chose to go off my meds again to see what would happen. And again. And guess what? I relapsed. Each time. Never again.

5. People who seek help for or admit to depression are attention-seeking drama queens

When I was at my worst, at the height of my era of self-mutilation, bulimia, and other forms of self-destruction, all I wanted to do was to become invisible. I already felt scrutinized enough, I only wanted to blend in. Unfortunately, my body language, my pitiful face, my constant tears (and my scars, that I tried to hide) resulted in highly unwanted attention, when all I wanted was to disappear and be left alone. I didn’t want other people to know. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me or to feel sorry for me. Attention? Pffft… That was the last thing I wanted.

6. Depression can be miraculously cured on its own through prayer

I acknowledge that for many, their faith is what sees them through trying times, and if you are fortunate enough to feel your depression lift in any way by praying to whatever god or higher power that may be, more power to you. But relying solely on prayer may not be enough, and denying the person suffering from depression access to other resources to overcome their illness is just wrong. In the same way that you can’t “pray away the gay,” you certainly can’t just pray away depression, either.

7. People who are depressed should go for a run – Bam! Depression cured.

While I’m not discounting the many benefits (psychological and otherwise) that exercise can bring, all I know is that when it comes to depression, you can’t take anything for granted, including the ability just to get out of bed. In my worst of times, I’ve been at points in my life when my depression has gotten so bad, so out of hand, so consuming, that doing something as simple as showering and getting dressed requires strength of Herculean proportions. And working out?!?… I had heard the exercise advice and, after much prompting, tried to walk my feelings out on the treadmill… and promptly wound up bursting into tears (rather awkward for the other gym patrons). No. When depression hits, it’s bad enough, but when it takes over, it is downright paralyzing in every sense of the word.

I acknowledge that everyone is entitled to their opinion and what they believe, and I know that I cannot be the spokesperson for every person who suffers from depression. Nevertheless, I still felt strongly compelled to share my own experiences and thoughts about this matter that has affected so many aspects of my life. As with any other disease that afflicts a person (because that is what depression is- a disease), those who are affected need a voice, and deserve support and compassion, not judgement.